State Of The Union

“Probably,” answered Harvath. “Where’s that container Rick Morrell dropped off for me?”

Though Harvath had originally had his differences with the CIA paramilitary operative, he and Morrell had grown to respect each other and had even developed a tentative friendship. As Scot removed the odd-looking suit from the black Storm case, he reflected on how it was good to have friends who could get their hands on the latest and greatest equipment.

A note was pinned to the outfit, which read, “I expect this back within two days and don’t get any blood on it.”Morrell was all heart.

“What is that thing?” asked Meg as she reached out to touch the alien fabric.

“It’s a next-generation infrared camouflage suit. Not only is the visible pattern extremely effective against detection by the naked eye, but the material itself can reduce a person’s thermal signature by over ninety-five percent.”

“Making you virtually invisible to any Forward Looking Infrared or Thermal Imaging devices.”

“You got it,” said Harvath who had to remind himself from time to time of the comprehensive training Meg had received during their hunt for the terrorist brother and sister team of Hashim and Adara Nidal.

“ Gary lives in a nice, well-to-do part of Fairfax. You think the FBI is sitting in front of his house with night vision devices?”

“It’s not the guys in front that I am worried about. It’s the guys in the back where Gary ’s property borders the woods. Those are the guys I want to be prepared for,” said Scot as he slid a fresh magazine into his.40-caliber SIG Sauer P229.

Meg’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re taking a weapon with you?”

Harvath glanced at the pistol for a moment and then placed it in the black duffle bag with the rest of his gear for the evening. “Ten men have already been killed,” he said as he threw in two more clips of ammo.

“What do you expect to find there?”

Scot stopped his packing and looked up to meet Meg’s gaze. “To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for. All I know is that none of this makes any sense. Somebody has a very deadly list and I need to make sure Gary ’s name is not on it.”

“But you said yourself that neither the FBI nor the CIA know if Gary ’s a target.”

“Meg, I know what you think, but I owe this to Gary.”

“Why?”

“What do you meanwhy? ”

“He’s a grown man. I love him too, but he can take care of himself.”

“What if he can’t?” asked Harvath as he slid the remaining items he thought he might need into the duffle and pulled the zipper shut.

“You don’t even know for sure that he needs saving.”

“Meg, I don’t want this to-” began Harvath, but he was interrupted.

“And even if he is in trouble, why should it be you who saves him?”

“How about the fact that he’s my friend?”

“Are you going to tell me this is something friends do for each other?” she asked as she pulled out a chair on the other side of the table from Harvath and sat down.

“In my world, yes,” answered Scot.

“But Gary didn’t do that for you.”

Harvath knew what she was talking about. When President Rutledge had been kidnapped and Harvath implicated as the only surviving Secret Service agent, Gary had seemed more concerned with getting him to turn himself in, than in helping him figure things out. “That’s not fair,” he responded. “He came through for me. Maybe not right away in the beginning-”

“No, Scot, not at all. It wasn’t until the bitter end. Not until you had provided him with enough evidence did he finally feel safe enough to help you. He didn’t do it just because you two were friends. He did it because he was finally convinced that youweren’t guilty. There’s a big, big difference.”

“I don’t agree,” said Harvath as he began walking toward his bedroom to get something.

Meg’s next words stopped him dead in his tracks. “Well, maybe we can agree on this. Gary Lawlor isn’t your father.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Scot as he came back into the dining area of his small apartment.

“It means exactly that.”

“Meg, if you’re trying to somehow evaluate my psyche, you’re wasting your time and my time. I don’t care what you think you learned from Oprah orRedbook, or wherever you’re getting this stuff, but there are some people out there that are perfectly fine and don’t have anyissues whatsoever.”

The statement was so patently defensive that Meg had to take a moment to remind herself of what it was she was trying to achieve before responding. She cared enough for Scot Harvath-no, scratch that. She loved Scot Harvath enough to want him to see it for himself. Shoving it in his face wouldn’t get her anywhere, but leading him to it might.

“When was the last time you went skiing?” she asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“A lot. At one point in your past, you were a damn good competitive skier. Now, you don’t even ski recreationally.”

“This has gone beyond ridiculous, I’ve got someplace I have to be,” said Harvath as he went into his bedroom, retrieved the last things he needed, and walked past Meg toward the door.